The Beauty of the Storm
by joannahobbit
Summary: I hate writing summaries so learn what you need to from the title. And if you must Smacked.


**You know by now: If I owned Mac would be mine. **

**I'm making myself write more from Mac's perspective. I feel quite comfortable in Stella's head but need more work writing Mac. I'm not sure how well I did on this one. IT is to be hoped I'll get better over time.  
**

**This is for Lillymoonlight who always reviews despite the fact that I never respond. Thanks for the encouragement!**

XXX

Since childhood I have had a fascination with storms. Summer storms are my favorite. Wind, rain, thunder, lightening, clouds. Their sheer power holds me in awe. I also love the stillness of winter storms. No matter how the snow falls, how the wind howls, how the cold bites, you have to admit, there is an inexplicable stillness to them.

As a scientist I know what's really going on; how air masses move and collide. How moist air moves and reacts as it cools or warms. Poe scorned science saying it took the magic out of nature for him; science has not taken the magic out of the storm for me. For me, there is beauty in the knowing.

During a storm, if possible, I take time to stand out in it and just feel. I remember one particular storm when I was about 20. A friend had family who owned a place in Minnesota and several of us went for a week. Why on that particular day I was alone, I cannot recall, but I was enjoying the solitude. I was reading when, with no warning, the sky became quite dark and the street lights came on. A glance outside told me that a strong storm was swiftly approaching. I went to the covered porch and sat for the duration. I can still feel the sound waves caused by the first clap of thunder. There was not much wind that day, the storm was not long: just torrential rain for about an hour with an occasional thunder clap or lightening burst. Despite the lack of wind, trees still lost their limbs. That is one of my favorite storms to date.

I do not often get the chance to experience real storms now that I am in New York. But when there is one I relish it. And get a lecture from Stella for being out in the elements with minimal protection. One day I will make her experience a storm on my terms. She professes to love them as I do but has never experienced one. She likes the storm through the windows of the office or of her place.

I cannot explain why I love storms so. It's not that I find it a catharsis. I think I am drawn by the power. And how that power, somehow, never gets completely out of control.

I think that's why I love Stella (you knew this was coming didn't you?). To me Stella is like a storm. Her passions are her power. She loves, hurts, protects, fears…feels, fiercely. Yet she is always in control. When her passions are at their peak so is her beauty. As with storms, I love being near her when she is raging. To watch as she focuses her energies on correcting the problem. I know what sets her off. Children first and foremost. Injustice another.

But I also know that, behind the storm is something that nature does not have; brokenness. Her past, hell, her near past, has caused so much damage. How she became the woman she is I have no idea. Daily we meet criminals who have less of a reason to commit the crimes they did then Stella has. People rarely see her when she is most broken. I have only seen it a few times. But I know that when her storm rages, the rains will not come until later. When no one is around to see them. I have seen the rains seldom. The rains I have seen have never had a preceding storm. They fall gently, like a spring shower. But where spring rains speak of newness and healing, hers often speak of grief or fear. So when I see them I allow them to fall. And I do what I can to bring her the healing she so desperately needs.

Which is why I am here now. The case today caused the most awe-inspiring storm I have seen in all our years of friendship. I knew that when the rains came later she would need someone there. So, immediately after my shift I find myself at her place. There is a note on her door; "I know you're here. Just use your key." Gently easing myself in, I see her at the window, watching the sky. Rain is imminent. Approaching her, I pull her tightly into my arms. Thunder causes the building to shake. And the rains come.

XXX

This is the poem by Poe that Mac was referencing in the second paragraph.

**Sonnet -- To Science**

Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!

Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.

Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart,

Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?

How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise,

Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering

To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,

Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing?

Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car?

And driven the Hamadryad from the wood

To seek a shelter in some happier star?

Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood,

The Elfin from the green grass, and from me

The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?


End file.
